


Keeping Score

by starfishing



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-02
Updated: 2011-07-24
Packaged: 2017-10-21 17:42:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/227858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starfishing/pseuds/starfishing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name is Dave Strider, and you're pretty much sure your younger ectobiotwin sister is making out with a guy on your front steps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Your name is Dave Strider, and you're pretty much sure your younger ectobiotwin sister is making out with a guy on your front steps.

The only question this poses is how badly you wreck her chances with him (and subsequently, his chances with her). Irreparably? Prohibitively? Superfluously? Or just substantially?

You decide to shoot for 'substantially,' since you haven't met this guy yet.

So when you open the door, all you say is, "Hey, Rose, Dad wanted me to tell you to pick up all your Squiddles from the living room floor," instead of "Hey, Rose, you left your dead stuffed cat out of the mausoleum again; Dad's mass hacked."

It's still enough to make her break away and turn around. You look past her and her seething, barely-contained rage to the guy she was just macking on.

He's pretty, which is definitely not a good thing. He might actually be wearing eyeliner; it's hard to tell in the porchlight. Either way, you probably should have come at this one with 'irreparable' in mind.

"Aww, you have a Squiddle collection?"

Yeah, you _definitely_ should've been gunning for irreparable. You probably should have gone for the wizard porn + dead cat obsession combo.

Rose's scowl morphs easily into a smirk, then melts into a bright smile as she turns to face her date. You lean in the doorway like a jerk.

"I wouldn't call it a collection, precisely, but I suppose I'm possessed of a number of stuffed Squiddles."

"You'll have to show me sometime," the douchebag says, and you make another tally mark under the 'strikes against Babyface McMaybelline' column. There are no marks in the other column, which is labeled 'votes in favour of my sister getting laid.'

She's way too aware of you standing back there to linger and keep talking, so she settles for a deliberate kiss on the boy's cheek, which is probably baby-butt soft and just as powdery, before turning to push you into the house with a disdainful hand. You go, but you force her to duck under your arm before you close the door, so you have a good, long second to look at the guy as he's descending the steps.

He glances over his shoulder, and you cock an eyebrow over the top of your shades. Gratifyingly, he hurries a little faster.

You shut the door, turning around to folded arms and a tapping foot.

"Dave, do you have a problem with my dating?"

"Jesus, yes. I talk to my therapist about it every week; she says it's emotionally draining for me to put up with, and that you're a terrible sister if you keep seeing other guys."

Rose's mouth quirks, down or up, you're not sure. "Other guys besides you?"

"No, other guys besides John. I want you to date John."

Now she looks genuinely curious, and you wonder if you've just done a bad thing. What if she seriously wants to date John? It could be worse, but fuck, best friends and sisters are not a thing that should be happening.

"Why would you want me to date John?"

You walk past her, into the kitchen, and return to slaving over the pizza you were making. It's half-Hawaiian, half-supreme, like always. Her heels click after you.

"John is a 'nice guy,'" she begins, answering her own question. "You could rest easy knowing that he wouldn't hurt me, and since he's your friend, you could keep a close eye on our relationship as it develops, yes?" When you wordlessly offer her a slice of ham, she accepts it and smiles triumphantly. "You're sweet, Strider."

"Actually, I was thinking that John was as close as you could get to being a lesbian, since you won't actually date girls."

Extravagant eyerolling. She swallows the ham. "Who said I wouldn't date girls?"

You grin briefly at the pizza. Victory secured.

"Oh, my bad. I guess you just don't bring the girls home. I wouldn't, either, if I had a brother as hot as me."

It works; she smacks you in the shoulder with a halfhearted backhand and starts for the stairs, taking her headband off. "I'm taking a bath. Call me when the pizza's ready."

That's a tally in the 'Dave Strider is a slick motherfucker column,' right beside the 'Rose Lalonde got lucky' column. Hot shit.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your name is Rose Lalonde, and you are dreadfully curious about your older ectobiotwin brother's flavour of the week.

Your name is Rose Lalonde, and you are dreadfully curious about your older ectobiotwin brother's flavour of the week.

She's in the kitchen, in one of his shirts and her own (please be her own please be her own) red satin-and-lace panties. You can see them peeking out from under the shirt, which is big on the girl, but not exorbitantly so. She's a tall girl, slender and leggy, and probably about a seven-point-five on the Strider-Sexable Scale.

You happen to know, from an accumulation of remarks gleaned from multiple rapid-fire gunfights of wit, that he prefers his girls small, petite, and erring on the side of 'adorable.' You wish you didn't know this, because now you view every kiss he leaves on Jade's forehead with some amount of incertitude. She's probably a nine.

All things considered, you muse over the empty glass you've come to fill, you'd really be doing your dear brother a favour if you were to chase this girl off. A seven-point-five is barely worth his highly-demanded time, after all.

When she opens a third cabinet in search of a glass, you speak up.

"It's the next cabinet to your left."

She jumps and looks over her shoulder, then smiles, apparently unabashed at having been caught half-dressed by her latest lover's sister. "Thanks." Fetching a glass down, she moves to pour herself some milk, while you fill your glass with grapefruit juice.

"Have fun last night?" you ask. It seems to catch her a little off-guard, but she doesn't appear offended.

"Yeah, actually. Your brother's really sweet."

You snort, unable to suppress your amusement at the thought of your _darling_ brother being sweet.

Well, that's not completely fair of you. He _is_ sweet — to you, and to Jade, and even, occasionally, to John — to the three of you he's known for almost five years, been through hell and back with, would trust with his life. But he's still only sweet to you and John under duress. (He's sweet to Jade most of the time, which further confirms your suspicions. You have a notebook nearly full of these particular observations.) The idea that he'd be sincerely sweet to a girl he probably met this very weekend _is_ completely laughable.

So you say, "Did he break out the puppets?"

Uncertainty works its way across her features, like shadows crawling under the moonlight. "The... puppets?"

You feign innocuous surprise. "Yes, he keeps them in his closet, I believe. He usually brings them out to play on the first date. I'm surprised he didn't." Now concern, as if your brother's lack of alacrity in exhibiting his favourite toys is a very grave matter.

That disquietude has settled in like nightfall now. "Um... what kind of... puppets?" She's chewing the inside of her lip. Honestly, she's probably about an eight-point-five on the Lalonde-Lovable Scale, but you — really have to stop picking up on Striderisms.

Before you can paint her a picture of these highly questionable puppets, the man himself comes down the stairs, just as half-dressed as she is, if somewhat more appropriately. His bare chest isn't as suggestive as her bare legs.

"Hey, did you find the—" He stops short, looking at you with eyes that you're sure are aggressively narrowed behind his shades. "Good morning." It sounds like an accusation.

"Good morning, brother, dear." You smile a thousand-watt, brilliantly passive-aggressive smile and take a sip of your juice. "I was just chatting with your girlfriend, here. She's quite nice." You could have called her his 'fling,' and to be honest, you considered it, but it was too aggressive and not passive enough.

The girl in question is now leaning against the counter, watching him uneasily. She smiles when he turns to her. "I... I was just about to tell your sister that I had, um, classes this morning. I'm gonna have to run."

He doesn't argue when she hurries past him to the stairs. No, Dave Strider knows his opponent well, and he must know, too, that this battle is already long lost. His only dignified course of action is to solemnly raise his white flag, and sharpen his swords for the next round.

Unfortunately, 'dignity' is a concept that he's familiar with only in theory. He holds up his phone and snaps a quick picture of you, standing there in your Squiddle pajamas with your hair a mess. You're sure he has something in mind for it, but you adopt a disinterested look, sipping at your juice. You'll get your hands on his phone later, and you'll set his ringtone to that country song he hates after you delete the picture.

Forward planning is essential to a flawless victory.


End file.
